


Derek and the Unnecessary Pining

by ureshiiichigo



Series: Bizarre Love Polyhedron [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Derek is a Failwolf, Derek's favorite color is not actually black, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Implied Platonic Derek/Scott/Stiles, M/M, Minor Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, POV Derek Hale, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Pre-Slash, Sassy Cora, Sassy Peter Hale, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ureshiiichigo/pseuds/ureshiiichigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is unfairly attractive, Scott is terrifyingly earnest, and Cora is a brat. Derek just wants them to leave him alone so he can finish reading his book. Is that so much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to Bacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> So I promised that I would start posting the sequel to Stiles and the Flawless Plan some time in February. Thanks to the powers of procrastination, you get to enjoy the first chapter at the last possible moment! Technically, the last day in February still counts. My beta tells me so, therefore it must be true.
> 
> This story is pretty much just an excuse to write pining Derek. Because pining Derek is my favorite.
> 
> Beta'd by the fantastic percygranger. Cheerleading provided by desiderii. Much love to both of you. MUAH.
> 
> I'm planning on posting once every three days, on a rotating day-of-the-week schedule. (We'll see how that actually works out.)

The blog had been Scott’s idea, actually.

“It’ll be a good way to keep in touch while you travel,” he’d said, his face earnest, eyes bright.

Derek hated him in that moment.

“I don’t know how to start a blog,” he had said, but Cora had set up the Wordpress site for him.

She refused to write anything. “I’m not a writer,” she’d said, one eyebrow raised. She looked so much like Laura in that moment, it made Derek’s breath catch.

“I’m not a writer, either,” he’d replied, and didn’t miss the way Cora’s face crumpled in on itself.

He remembered, before the fire, how he’d sat with Cora and Andrew before bed, telling them stories of pirates and fairies, magicians and spaceships.

“Fine,” Derek said, if only to wipe the pain from Cora’s face. “But I can’t promise it’ll be any good.”

***

Scott commented on every post. Usually something insipid like “Sounds like fun!” or “Glad I’ve never been stuck on a road trip with you,” or “Is that really the only thing you noticed about Kansas?”

The rest of the pack commented sometimes. Peter left a few cryptic responses. Isaac commented on one of Derek’s Colorado entries to say he’d never gone skiing before. The twins commented on the first entry jointly, saying “Have fun! Looking forward to the Vegas post!” Derek had spent a long few minutes deciding if he wanted to delete it.

Even the humans left comments. Allison left generic cheery responses. Danny commented on the Boston entry, when Cora had dragged Derek to a male strip club. Lydia would correct his typos and argue about his grammar.

Stiles never commented. Derek tried not to think about it.

***

Four months into their road trip, Cora and Derek stood on the observation deck on top of the Seattle Space Needle, staring out at the city below as wind ruffled their hair, and Cora said “I’m sick of this bullshit.”

Derek just shrugged.

He was ready to come back to Beacon Hills. He missed… things. Of course he would miss Beacon Hills. It held the home where he had grown up, the graves of his family, his new alpha.

He could say that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing anyone else in the pack, but lately he hadn’t been as good at deceiving himself. It may have been the dreams that tipped him off: dreams of brown eyes and long fingers. Cora had finally stopped giving him the side eye during breakfast, which either meant that he’d stopped talking in his sleep, or, more likely, that she’d come to anticipate his midnight mumblings.

They never talked about it. They didn’t talk about the years Cora had spent in hiding, either. Once Derek had asked her if there had been anyone. Cora’s eyes had grown dark, and she set down her spoon, unable to finish her oatmeal. Derek had waited, picking around his raisins (Cora insisted he eat fruit, but Derek hated them), and finally, she got up, said, “Yes,” and exited the diner. Derek hadn’t seen her for the rest of the day, but when he woke up the next morning, she was in her bed in the motel room. He never brought it up again.

***

His phone buzzed four days after he’d posted his latest blog entry, the one saying that he and Cora were thinking of coming back to Beacon Hills. He fumbled it out of his pocket while Cora was in the bathroom of some crappy diner, indistinguishable from all the other crappy diners they’d visited in the four months they’d been traveling.

It was from Scott, and simply read,

_From Scott: When you coming back to bacon Hills? Planning a welcome back party :)_

Derek snorted at the typo and thumbed back a response ( _Tomorrow._ ) before sliding the phone back in his pocket. Cora looked at him suspiciously when she got out of the bathroom, but he just took another forkful of eggs, and raised a judgmental eyebrow when she stole one of his pancakes.

***

“They’re throwing a party for us?” Cora snorted as she pushed open the front door of the loft and dropped her duffel in the entryway with a solid thump. “Right, because they were so sad to see us go.”

Derek shrugged, tension thrumming through his shoulder blades as he followed her inside. “I think Scott just wants the pack to be closer.”

“Than it was when you were alpha, you mean?” She plopped down on the sofa, sending up a puff of dust and the scent of dried leaves, and propped her feet up on the coffee table. “It would be hard to do worse.”

Derek sighed and swatted her ankles off the table. “Thanks.”

“Whatever,” Cora retorted, putting her feet back on the table.

He frowned down at his sister. “Your confidence in me is always appreciated.”

“You’re a great brother, an awesome wolf, and a good person. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a terrible alpha.”

Derek winced. “I’m not a good person.”

“Shut up. Stop oozing your insecurities everywhere and sit down with me.” She patted the couch cushion next to her.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and remained standing.

Cora rolled her eyes. “We need to talk about Scott.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe about how he’s your alpha now, but not mine?” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Unless you’d rather talk about Stiles.”

Derek bared his teeth, letting his fangs elongate, and flashed blue eyes at his sister.

She appeared unfazed, but she did bare her neck minutely when she said, “Fine, big bro. We won’t talk about it. But you better make sure Scott knows I’m not joining his big, happy family. Not now, maybe not ever.”

“It won’t be an issue.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “So that’s a, ‘No, I won’t bother to tell Scott.’ Thanks, Der. You’re the best.”

Derek let his arms drop to his sides. “We done here?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand at him. “Feel free to go off and brood in a corner, bemoaning your meaningless existence.”

Derek scowled before stalking away.


	2. Pity Party

Peter was smirking as he opened the door to Scott’s house. “I know you hate parties,” he said, “but try not to look like someone just died.” He patted Derek’s cheek, pursing his lips in mock concern. “Lighten up, emo kid.”

Derek snarled and shouldered his way past Peter through the open doorway.

Having lost his first choice of victim, Peter turned to Cora. “And how is my favorite niece?”

“I’m your only niece,” Cora said from behind Derek.

“My only _living_ niece.”

“Gee, Uncle Peter, I’m so glad you like me better than my dead siblings.”

Derek tuned out Cora and Peter’s bickering as he blinked at the scene before him. There were over a hundred black balloons strewn about the place, covering every conceivable surface. There were even a few lodged above the ceiling fan and behind the television. Black streamers fluttered down from arbitrary points on the ceiling and various light fixtures. The doorway between the living room and the kitchen was lined with them.

“Wow,” Cora said, coming up to stand next to Derek. She tucked her hair back behind her ears and smoothed out the wrinkles in her jacket. “This is impressive.”

Peter smirked. “I want balloons at my next funeral.”

“Seriously,” Cora said, “did a terminally ill five year old choose the decorations?”

Scott’s voice drifted out of the kitchen. “The balloons look nice, Stiles. Why did you choose the color black, again?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles said, his heart rate picking up. “To match Derek’s soul.”

“Oh God,” Derek said, and hightailed it for the nearest doorway that was not lined in streamers.

He could hear Cora cackling behind him as he fled.

***

Derek could identify Peter’s heartbeat before he finished walking up to the door of Scott’s bedroom.

Derek sighed, pushed himself out of Scott’s stuffed armchair, and opened the door. “What?”

Peter tilted his head. “You can’t hide all night, you know.” He raised an eyebrow, considering his words. “Well, you _could_ , but it would be rude.”

Derek grit his teeth, debating the merits of slamming the door in Peter’s face.

“Then again, you’ve never cared about being rude, have you?”

“Is there a point to this?”

A sly smile inched its way onto Peter’s face. “Did you notice anything about Scott before you turned tail?”

Derek turned and walked back to the armchair. He could sense Peter following him just a few feet behind, though his footsteps were nigh undetectable, like always. “Should I have?”

“Hmm. I suppose, if you had any investment in your new alpha’s love life.”

“I don’t care about Scott’s love life,” Derek said, collapsing back into the armchair.

“Don’t you?” 

Peter was looking far too smug for Derek’s liking. “Either get to the point, or leave.”

“You didn’t notice anything about Stiles, either, did you?”

Derek felt his shoulder muscles tense at the mention of Stiles’ name. He fought the urge to leap up and press his claws against Peter’s throat. It wasn’t like this was the first time Peter had deliberately gotten under his skin. “Why would I have noticed anything about Stiles?” he asked, trying to sound disinterested.

It must not have worked, because Peter’s smirk was nearly splitting his face now. “For the same reason you might have noticed something about Scott.”

“I hate it when you’re being needlessly cryptic.”

“Oh, it’s never needless.” Peter relaxed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning backwards a bit. “So you still maintain that you have no interest in Scott’s love life?”

“It’s none of my business,” Derek retorted, probably more sharply than he should have. “And none of yours, either.”

“Ugh, you sound like your mother.”

Derek bared his teeth.

“I’m just saying,” Peter drawled, “you can’t stay in here all night. Maybe you should go pay your… respects.” He said the word _respects_ with a grimace, as though even forming the syllables put a bad taste in his mouth.

“If I do, will you go away?”

“No promises.”

Derek got up and shoved his way past Peter to the stairwell. Maybe if he ignored him for long enough, Peter would get bored and go away. Sadly, he followed Derek downstairs. Derek could feel the smirk burning into the back of his skull.

Isaac was looking in his direction when he finished untangling himself from the streamers spanning the entrance to the living room. Isaac and Allison were sitting together on the love seat in front of the television, thighs pressed together, and he nodded at Derek once before settling his hand on Allison’s knee. She turned and startled when she saw Derek standing there.

Derek stuffed his hands in his pockets and attempted a smile.

“Derek!” said Allison, her voice overly bright. “How have you been?”

“Fine,” he said. “Is there any soda?”

“In the fridge. There should be cold ones in the front, warmer near the back.”

“Thanks.” He went into the kitchen as quickly as he could to get away from Allison’s misplaced enthusiasm.

Peter called out, “Give my regards to Scott,” as Derek slipped through the row of streamers.

Scott, Cora, and Stiles were in the kitchen, clustered between the fridge and the table. Stiles’ back was turned to Derek. He had a tumbler of whisky in one hand and a skewer of chicken in the other, but that didn’t stop him from gesticulating wildly when he spoke, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. He was mumbling something about turtles and radioactive materials, his voice slightly slurred from the alcohol, as Scott beamed back at him and Cora looked like she was trying not to laugh.

Derek didn’t want to interrupt. It would have been rude to make them move, just so he could grab something from the refrigerator. He was entirely justified in stopping in his tracks, turning, and fleeing the kitchen silently.

When he came back through the streamer doorway, Peter took one look at him and started laughing.

“Shut up,” Derek said, and went back upstairs.

***

It was Cora who found him five minutes later, a bottle of cream soda extended in offering. “Just talk to him,” she said, before turning to go back downstairs. “Idiot.” 


	3. Awkward

When Derek came back downstairs, bottle of soda clenched in his fist like a lifeline, Stiles was nowhere to be seen. Scott had settled on the sofa in between Isaac and Allison, Cora was sitting on the floor tucked between Allison’s legs, and Peter was lurking by the dessert table. There was some video game playing on the television, and the kids clustered around the sofa were all clutching controllers and staring at the screen.

Peter stared at Derek when he came in, glancing meaningfully at the sofa. Derek, puzzled, wondered if Stiles was hiding behind the arm, but as Peter’s eyebrows grew increasingly sarcastic, he realized that Peter was trying to get Derek to go over and talk to Scott.

Right. His new alpha.

Derek glared at Peter before stalking over to the couch.

“Derek, hi!” Scott said, glancing from the screen to Derek. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you want to play?” Scott tilted his head towards the television screen.

Derek shook his head. “I’m good.”

Scott’s eyes flitted back to the screen. “Are you enjoying the party so far?”

Derek gripped his bottle tightly, running a thumb around the rim. “Yes.”

Cora shifted to frown up at him. She mouthed “Play nice,” before turning back to the game.

Scott turned wide eyes back at Derek. “Um,” he said, voice tentative, “I don’t know if you heard, but Stiles and I are dating now.”

Derek took a swig from his bottle, wincing at the too-sweet taste. “No, I hadn’t.” He paused, licking his lips clean of the remaining sticky-sweet soda. “Congratulations.”

Peter came up behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Please forgive my nephew’s manners. Our little Der-bear was never big on parties.” Derek glared and shrugged away from Peter’s touch.

“Really?” Scott asked.

Peter hummed in agreement. “Yes, even before all the childhood trauma. Said they wore him out.”

“Shut up, Peter,” Derek growled. “Scott, it was good talking with you.” He nodded in deference to his alpha and stalked off to the nearest empty corner. He just wanted to drink his soda in peace, and glower at Peter from a respectable distance.

***

After all that, Derek’s conversation with Stiles was somewhat anti-climactic.

Stiles smelled like teenage arousal, like Scott, like grass and excitement, like scotch and rosemary and cocoa. His cheeks were flushed and his pupils were dilated, and he slurred his words enough that Derek had to strain to understand him.

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to comment,” Stiles was saying. Derek had to focus on his lips to parse the words, and he was trying to avoid staring, so he could only catch bits and pieces.

“You read my blog?” Derek asked, when Stiles had finally lapsed into silence.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and Derek managed to miss the rest of his sentence, because his brain was still stuck on _He read my blog._

He took a hasty sip of cream soda, noting the way Stiles’ eyes tracked his mouth. He resisted the urge to flick his tongue out against the rim. He shouldn’t be flirting with Stiles. Stiles was way too young for him. Stiles had a boyfriend.

Shit. Stiles had a boyfriend.

“Congratulations,” Derek blurted. “By the way.”

“Huh?” Stiles scrunched up his nose in confusion.

Derek gestured towards Scott, sitting on the couch. “You know, you and…” He took another swig. From across the room, Peter rolled his eyes at him and moved to sit next to Cora.

“Use your words, Derek,” Stiles said. Derek looked back and saw that Stiles was grinning at him, his eyes half-lidded, eyelashes dark against his cheek. Derek tried valiantly to _not_ think about Stiles staring up at him under lowered eyelashes. Stiles on his knees. Stiles kneeling in front of Derek, looking up at him with long fingers spread across Derek’s thighs—

“Scott,” Derek managed to bite out.

Stiles’ expression shifted from flirtatious to guilty, which helped calm Derek’s libido somewhat. “Right,” Stiles said. “Um. Thanks.”

When he looked back over to the couch, the tips of Scott’s ears were red, Cora was shooting him a confused look, and Peter just looked smug.

“Does he make you happy?” The words tumbled out of Derek’s mouth before he had a chance to think about them.

Stiles looked at him with a disgruntled expression, his mouth falling slack. “What? Yeah. I mean.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Derek was an idiot. “I should go mingle,” he said, and fled over to the opposite side of the room. Stiles was mumbling something as he left, but Derek ignored him. He made a mental note to get rid of his cream soda. It was starting to make him feel queasy.

***

Derek was just starting to feel settled again in his new corner next to the plate of chicken skewers, ignoring the way Stiles was using Cora’s lap as a pillow, when Scott said something about watching a movie. Derek raised an eyebrow in Cora’s direction when she made some snarky comment about The Notebook, and everyone seemed pretty relaxed, but when Scott asked Derek to join them on the couch, Stiles’ heart rate proceeded to skyrocket.

Stiles stormed out of the room, smelling like anger and panic, his heart stuttering like crazy. Scott blinked, momentarily stunned, before leaping off the couch and jogging after him. As the first sounds of their argument filtered through to the living room, the other werewolves shifted nervously in their seats.

“Am I not allowed to worry about you?” Scott was saying.

“Maybe,” Stiles replied, a bitter note in his voice, “I just want you to stop pushing me on Derek.”

Isaac, Cora, and Peter all turned to look at Derek with respective expressions of confusion, horror, and smugness (damn it, Peter), and Allison’s gaze darted back and forth, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Seriously?” Cora asked.

“What are you looking at me for?” Derek asked, frowning at his sister and uncle. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “You can’t be that oblivious.”

Cora sighed. “Derek, you’ve at least smelled him, right?”

Derek grit his teeth. “He always smells like that!”

“Yeah,” Cora said, rolling her eyes, “around _you_.”

Derek swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “What?”

Cora sighed, exasperated.

On the couch, Isaac tucked his arm around Allison’s shoulders. The living room fell quiet, the sounds of Stiles’ and Scott’s argument filtering in from down the hall. Stiles’ voice sounded more and more broken as he spoke.

The werewolves all tensed up as they heard Stiles say, “I love you, okay?”

“Fuck this,” Derek said, and stormed out the front door.

He stood for long minutes with his back pressed up against the side of the house, trying to regain his bearings. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he focused on that rather than trying to decipher the murmurs of Peter and Cora, or Stiles’ lovelorn confessions.

Derek was just starting to breathe evenly again when Stiles stormed out the front door, striding up to his jeep while radiating anger, misery, and indignation.

He stopped when he got to the door, patting at his jeans pocket before tensing up and burying his hands in his hair. “Fuck!” Stiles said, kicking at the front tire.

Derek’s feet carried him towards Stiles without his conscious permission.

“Scott, I’m sorry, but I _really_ don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, and stopped. What was he supposed to say? _I’m sorry that you had a fight with your boyfriend because of me?_

Stiles whipped around, his eyes wide and dark in his face. The lighting out here was dim enough that Derek had to rely on his night vision. The stark contrast between Stiles’ dark hair and pale skin was even more apparent now than in the daylight, and Derek’s eyes flicked down to trace the moles dotting Stiles’ jaw, the shadow curving around his Adam’s apple, the sharp line of his collarbone as it disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt. His breath still smelled of cheap scotch whenever he puffed out an exhale.

“Do you need a ride home?” Derek heard himself saying. “I figured you wouldn’t want to stay the night, and you were drinking earlier.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and Derek turned away, started walking towards his car, before Stiles could change his mind.


	4. Guardian

Derek was never going to offer Stiles a ride in his car, ever again. Certainly not in the middle of November, when it was too cold to roll the windows down. The entire trip to Stiles’ house, the car had slowly filled up with the sharp, pungent odor of arousal. Not just from Stiles, which would have been bad enough, but both of them, scents mingling.

Derek rolled the windows down on the drive back to Scott’s, weather be damned. Cora was going to give him so much shit for having car-window hair.

From everything he had said this evening, Stiles was in love with Scott. Why wouldn’t he be? Scott was a good person, a good alpha. Scott didn’t bite teenagers in a desperate bid to not be alone. Scott didn’t struggle for control over his shift when someone he loved announced that he’d argued with his boyfriend. Scott didn’t almost force himself on drunk, underaged, vulnerable teenagers.

Derek bit his lip, canines extended, to regain some semblance of control. The pain helped ground him. Derek had spent enough of his time making split-second decisions and regretting them for the rest of his life. Maybe it was time to try something new.

In the interest of self-improvement, he devised a plan: he would drive back to Scott’s house, give Cora the car keys, threaten to rip Scott’s lungs out if he ever hurt Stiles like that again, and then run back to Stiles’ house to make sure he was okay.

It wasn’t the best plan, as these things went, but it was a start.

By the time he rolled up in front of Scott’s house, blood was dripping down his chin and splattering onto his Henley. He retracted his fangs and wiped away what he could, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the sidewalk. Then he straightened his leather jacket, got out of the car, locked it, and calmly, deliberately, walked to the front door and knocked.

Peter answered. “You’re back?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes,” Derek growled, and pushed past to the middle of the room, where Scott, Isaac, and Allison were clinging to each other on the sofa. Cora was huddled into the corner by the dessert table, still in view of whatever was playing on the television, but as far away from Scott as she could get and still be in the same room.

Scott straightened in his seat. “I’m sorry,” he said, but Derek shook his head.

“He loves you.” He growled, baring his teeth. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Scott jumped up from the couch. In the corner of his eye, he could see Cora start slinking closer.

“That’s none of your business.”

“When my name comes up as the central point of your argument, I think it _makes_ it my business.”

Scott’s eyes flashed red. “That was a _private_ conversation.”

“No, it wasn’t! You and Stiles _both admitted_ that you knew everyone could hear you fighting!” By this time, Derek could feel his facial muscles twisting, threatening to shift, and his fangs scratched against his lower lip as he spoke. “Maybe it didn’t start out that way, but you made it my business when you let your boyfriend walk out the door of this house!”

Scott didn’t bother to control his shift, and he snarled at Derek, all flashing red eyes and sharp teeth. Derek resisted the urge to bare his neck. “I don’t _let_ Stiles do anything!”

“Of course you don’t, you just give him panic atta—” A click and a flash cut Derek off mid-rant. He turned towards the source, his fangs already receding. Cora was holding up her cell phone. “What the hell?”

“Did you just take a picture?” Scott whined.

Cora rolled her eyes and stuffed her phone in her back pocket. “Chill out, you two, you’re scaring the cubs.” She nodded towards the couch, and Derek and Scott turned simultaneously to see Isaac crouched behind the arm, a grimace on his face.

“Isaac, I’m so sorry!” Scott said, frantic, clambering back onto the couch as Isaac relaxed against the sofa arm and scrubbed a hand through his hair, mumbling about how it wasn’t a big deal, he was fine, and would Scott just calm down already. 

Derek could feel his anger melting away, leaving him drained. “Here,” he said, tossing the car keys at Cora. “Stay the night if you want, I don’t care.”

He turned to leave, and Peter was staring at him from the door, a calculating look on his face.

“Don’t,” Derek said.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Peter said, his eyebrows raised.

Derek closed the front door softly behind him, counted to ten, and then started walking — not running — to Stiles’ house.

***

After verifying that the sheriff’s patrol car was missing from the driveway, Derek clambered up to Stiles’ bedroom window and peeked inside. Stiles was flopped stomach down on the mattress, face smashed into the pillow and arms and legs flung akimbo. He hadn’t bothered getting undressed; his shoes were still on.

Even in sleep, Stiles was radiating quiet misery. 

Laura had only been in three relationships, and she’d only been dumped the once, but Derek could still remember how miserable she’d been in the weeks afterward. He had done his best to take care of her, but it was different when your big sister was the one hurting. He wasn’t exactly sure if Stiles would even want to be taken care of — still, Derek wanted to try.

He slid the window open as silently as he could and stepped inside with a nearly inaudible rustle of his shoes against the carpet. Taking in a deep breath, he crept over to Stiles’ bed and appraised the situation. 

Stiles had fallen asleep in the clothes he’d been wearing to the party. They smelled of whisky and garlic powder. It was an improvement over the sexual frustration from earlier, though, and Derek breathed in and out, slow and even, to make sure he was fully in control.

Derek could untie Stiles’ sneakers without waking him, but he wouldn’t be able to remove any other articles of clothing. Stiles’ cellphone was poking out of his back pocket; it was probably uncomfortable. It was a bit chilly in the room, but there was no way for Derek to drape the comforter over Stiles, since he was currently sprawled on top of it.

First, Derek unlaced Stiles’ shoes and eased them off, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed. He then fished Stiles’ cellphone out of his pocket and tried to check the battery level, but it looked like it was dead. He found the charger buried under a pile of dirty laundry and plugged it in so Stiles would have it in the morning. Adding “blankets” to his mental checklist, Derek climbed back out the window, leaving it only slightly cracked so as not to let out all the heat.

He walked to the loft — there was no point in running; it would just make him sweaty — and grabbed the navy blanket at the foot of his bed, pausing when he got to his bookshelf. After a moment’s hesitation, he selected his battered copy of the Hobbit, and started the walk back to Stiles’.

When he ducked back through the window, he settled the blanket over Stiles’ shoulders, making sure to cover his toes.

He climbed back out onto the roof and checked his phone for the time. Just past midnight. If the sheriff was working a night shift, he should be back before Stiles woke up. Derek settled in to the crook between Stiles’ window and the main slope of the roof, and flipped his book open to chapter one, letters crisp under the glow of the gibbous moon.


	5. It's Not Stalking, Really

Derek startled awake when he heard Stiles’ voice, oddly muffled, saying “What the hell?”

The sun was hot on his face, and obnoxiously bright even through his closed eyelids. He winced as he stretched his back muscles, the shingles digging into his shoulder blades uncomfortably. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that his phone was balanced precariously on one thigh and one leg was dangling off the roof edge, the other propped up against the rain gutter.

Then it registered that Derek had not, in fact, heard the Sheriff’s patrol car pull up to the house at any point, but the light outside was much brighter than it should have been, and the sun was high overhead. He craned up to check exactly where it was, when his cellphone slipped off his thigh. Without thinking, he dove to catch it. If he landed on concrete from this height, his bones would heal, but his phone wouldn’t. He didn’t want to have to replace the damn thing again.

He was laying on his back in the grass, blinking up at the sun, cellphone clutched triumphantly in one fist and his book in the other, when Stiles’ window slid open and Stiles shoved almost his entire torso out the frame. 

“What the _hell_?”

Shit. Derek had not prepared for this scenario. He jumped to his feet, shoving his cellphone in his back pocket, and sprinting for the nearest available cover.

“Hey, don’t run away, asshole! Why the fuck were you sleeping on my roof?”

Derek was debating the merits of retreating to the loft to cower in shame versus waiting until the Sheriff got home to make sure Stiles didn’t steal the remaining contents of the liquor cabinet, when he heard Stiles’ voice filtering down, and faint but just barely audible, Scott’s tinny reply.

“What?” Stiles asked. He sounded startled. Derek frowned and crept closer to the window.

“…perfect excuse to end it, right? I’m not imagining things?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, and his heartbeat stuttered. “So, um, I guess we’re broken up now, according to the pack?”

Derek was still wondering what the hell “according to the pack” was supposed to mean when Scott spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Sure, fine,” Stiles said. Derek winced, not only at the obviousness of the lie, but the overly bright tone. It didn’t even sound like Stiles, anymore. “Just, you might want to wait a week or two until you start dating someone else.”

Derek stiffened. Was Scott really so insensitive that he needed that sort of warning? The rest of the conversation was drowned out in the white noise of Derek’s anger, and he slunk off to the Stilinski’s back yard to think.

There was something seriously wrong between Stiles and Scott. Not just typical teenage heartbreak wrong, either. As much as Derek wanted to run back to Scott’s house and throttle him for answers, he knew he needed to stay here. Even if Stiles didn’t know Derek was still around, he shouldn’t be alone right now. Derek sighed and found a shady spot behind the garden shed, out of view of the main floor windows. He might as well finish his book.

***

About twenty minutes later, once Stiles’ breathing evened out into sleep, Derek left the backyard and walked back to the loft for another book and a change of clothing. He decided to check on Stiles once every hour. Otherwise, he would be tempted to just spend the entire day and night hiding in the Stilinski’s garden shed.

Stiles spent the rest of Saturday sleeping, as far as Derek could tell, but between three and four in the afternoon he ate a peanut butter sandwich (Stiles had left the plate on his night stand, still dotted with crumbs, and Derek could smell Stiles’ peanut butter breath through the cracked window). When Derek checked at one in the morning, the Sheriff’s car had appeared in the driveway and the kitchen light had been turned on, but Stiles hadn’t stirred. 

By Derek’s check at three in the morning, though, Stiles had rearranged the covers and flipped over onto his stomach. His breath smelled faintly of cranberries and sugar, and his hands of oranges. His sleep was calmer, after that, and his heartbeat slower, but most importantly, he stopped smelling quite so lonely.

On Sunday, Derek didn’t bother climbing up to the roof to look in on Stiles; as he approached the house, he could hear Stiles shuffling around in his room, watching some sitcom with an excessive laugh track and munching on Cheetos (the spicy kind, which always made Derek’s nose itch).

Stiles got out of bed and wandered over to the window during the four o’clock and six o’clock checks, which puzzled Derek until the seven o’clock check, when Stiles slid the window open and started dialing a number on his cellphone.

Derek’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he had to fight a flinch as he crouched behind the shed. After a pause, he heard the faint strains of his own voice mailbox, and Stiles started speaking.

“Hey, stalker. Thanks for the ride home Friday night, but if you could stop the Edward Cullen watching-me-while-I-sleep routine, it would do wonders for my already fragile psyche.” 

Derek frowned. He wasn’t _stalking_ Stiles. He was just making sure Stiles was okay. There was a difference.

“Um, that’s all,” Stiles added. From where Derek was standing, he couldn’t see Stiles, but he sounded almost embarrassed. “Bye.”

Derek didn’t want to come out of hiding until Stiles had gone back inside, but he was starting to contemplate digging a hole under the fence to escape when he heard Stiles’ voice call out once more, quieter this time, but still audible to werewolf ears.

“I don’t really mind, you know,” Stiles said, and Derek froze, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m glad someone cares. So, um. Thanks.” The window squeaked as Stiles slid it shut. 

Derek had to wait for a few minutes before he could stand without his legs shaking. He walked back to the loft, and when he came through the front door, Cora looked up from her seat on the couch to frown at him. “Where have you been all weekend?”

Derek stared at her for a moment. “The park,” he finally said. It wasn’t a lie. He’d spent most of his time in between checking up on Stiles sitting on a bench overlooking the Beacon Park Pond, rereading the Fellowship of the Ring.

Cora sniffed at him and pulled a face. “You smell foul.”

Derek bared his teeth. “Thanks for the input,” he said, pushing past her towards the main floor bathroom. He stalked over to the shower and set the water to its hottest setting before stripping down to his boxer briefs and stepping under the spray. Stiles’ words kept echoing in his head though, in a constant loop. 

_I don’t really mind._  
 _I’m glad someone cares._  
 _Thanks._

When he stepped out of the shower, still dripping on the tile floor, he texted Scott.

_To Scott: You should check on Stiles tonight._

Scott replied seven minutes later, with a simple _Ok. I will. Thanks._

Derek spent what felt like hours staring up at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows cast by the street lamps outside.


	6. Giving Advice

The next morning, Derek woke up to an empty apartment. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and burning Derek’s eyelids. His mouth tasted less like death than it had yesterday, and the mattress was much more comfortable than the shingles had been, but he still opened his eyes reluctantly, blinking up at the ceiling for a few moments. He didn’t move right away, just breathed through his nose, cataloging the familiar smells of the loft, of Cora, of sour milk from the poorly rinsed carton in the recycle. He curled his toes, tensed and relaxed his leg and core muscles to get the blood flowing again.

Letting out a soft grunt, Derek rolled over to grab his phone off the floor, and swiped the screen to check his notifications.

_3 unread text messages_

_From Cora: omg we still dont have milk go to the grocery store already!_   
_From Cora: im getting breakfast somewhere fend for yourself loser_

_From Scott: Sorry about Friday_

Derek was still blinking at Scott’s text when his phone started signaling an incoming call.

“Yes?” Derek answered, his voice still rough with sleep.

Scott’s voice was laced with panic when he spoke. “I haven’t seen Stiles today, is he with you?”

Derek frowned. “What? No.”

“Crap. I think he’s avoiding me.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Not that Scott could see it. “You’re surprised?”

Scott was silent for a beat. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”

Derek collapsed back onto his pillows. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Derek snorted. “I think after being dumped by his boyfriend, Stiles is probably a little upset.”

“Dumped?” Scott sucked in a sharp breath. “Who told you that?”

“No one, I—”

“Was it Stiles?”

“No.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “No one told me. It’s obvious.”

“How is it obvious?” Scott squeaked. “Never mind. That’s not why I called. Do you think he skipped school just to avoid me?”

“No,” Derek said, holding up a hand to shield against the sun shining in his eyes. “What time is it?”

Scott sounded confused when he answered. “12:07, why?”

“He’s probably eating lunch.”

“Yeah, that’s why I _called_. It’s lunchtime and he’s not in the cafeteria.”

Derek sighed. He had just woken up. He didn’t need to deal with this bullshit. “So?”

“So, he’s not outside either. So where is he?”

“This is Stiles. Where does he go when he’s avoiding people?”

“Uh… The library?”

“Then check there,” Derek said, irritation coloring his tone. “And don’t bother him. If he’s avoiding you, it’s for a reason.”

“Oh,” Scott said. “Uh. Thanks, Derek.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pressed the end call button.

***

Seven hours later, Derek got a series of text messages from Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb.

_From Aiden: operation cheer up styles is go_

_From Ethan: what my brother means to say is_   
_From Ethan: come over to stile’s house for portal and pizza_

_From Aiden: that’s what i just said_   
_From Aiden: also we don’t have pizza yet just chinese food_

_From Ethan: so come early if you want to decide what goes on the pizza_

***

Derek ended up lurking in the corner while Stiles stuffed his face with crab cheese wontons, Ethan and Aiden completely failed to make any progress in the video game they were playing, and Lydia made snide comments.

Stiles ran up to his room shortly after Isaac arrived, and Allison headed up after him. In deference to Lydia and Danny, who couldn’t eavesdrop on the conversation, the twins kept the television volume turned up until Allison came back downstairs, beaming.

“He’ll be okay,” she said.

“We should give him some space,” Derek said.

Six pairs of eyes turned to him. Lydia was the first one to speak. “Obviously. Aiden, can you put the leftovers in the fridge while I turn off the TV?” She turned her laser focus onto Aiden, who immediately snapped to attention and scrambled off the couch. The others sprang to life soon after, Ethan wiping down the counters with a paper towel, Danny putting the game back in its case, and Isaac and Allison gathering everyone’s belongings and handing them off to their corresponding owners.

Derek frowned to himself as he gathered up the paper plates to throw in the trash. No one had ever followed his advice this well back when he was alpha.

Once Isaac had delivered a shy parting wave and closed the front door behind himself, Derek headed out to the back to check on Stiles. He was sitting at his desk, laptop open to some Wikipedia page about rabbits. For the first time in days, he seemed, more or less, content. Satisfied, Derek climbed back down, silently dropping to a crouch in the grass. He detoured inside to snag one last piece of pizza from the fridge before heading back to the loft.

***

Derek dropped by the Stilinski house just before midnight over the next few days. On Tuesday, Stiles was fast asleep, huddled in a ball because at some point, the covers had slipped off the bed. Derek readjusted them and shut the window behind him.

On Wednesday, Stiles was downstairs, watching something on the television. Probably waiting for his dad to get home.

On Thursday, Stiles and Scott were curled up together on Stiles’ bed, and both of them smelled warm, comfortable, content.

Derek didn’t bother checking after that.


	7. Odd Behavior

The next week, on Tuesday evening, Derek was standing in the cereal aisle, debating between two different boxes of off-brand cereal (he preferred corn flakes, but Cora had asked for rice crisps), when he heard Scott and Stiles talking in the next aisle over.

“Isaac said he always did his shopping on Tuesdays,” Scott was saying.

Stiles snorted. “When has Derek ever _always_ done something? Other than brood and threaten bodily harm, I mean.”

Derek sighed, tossing both boxes in the cart. “What do you want, Scott?”

Scott yelped. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Stiles said, his voice edging into panic. “What is it, Lassie?”

“Shut up, Stiles, I told you not to call me that!”

Derek was smirking by the time he rounded the corner. “Hi,” he said.

Stiles screamed as he stumbled backwards. It sounded a little like a dying cat. (Derek still winced to remember what had happened to that stray siamese Laura had sneaked into Derek’s bunk bed when he was eight. At least Deaton had been able to reattach its paw.)

At Stiles’ scream, Derek grit his teeth, but Scott, who had apparently still been using his enhanced hearing, clapped his hands over his ears and kicked Stiles in the shin.

“Is there a reason you were looking for me?” Derek asked, as Stiles hopped around on one leg, cursing, and Scott flailed with the grocery basket.

Stiles jerked around to stare at Derek. “What? No! Yes? Maybe!” He nodded, clutching his shin with one hand and leaning against the shelf full of soup cans.

Derek looked pointedly between Stiles and Scott, but they were both beaming back at him. It was getting creepy. “Well, I’m just going to go back to my shopping, then,” he said.

Scott pulled Stiles back onto his feet. “We’ll come with!” he said.

Derek blinked. “I usually shop by myself.”

“But we want to come too!” Stiles yelled, then turned red and started snickering.

“Good one, Stiles,” Scott said, rolling his eyes.

Derek looked down into his cart, which currently consisted of two boxes of cereal and a pack of chocolate chip cookies for Cora. He still had half a dozen things left on the list. “You know,” he said, “I think I’m about done, actually. So I’ll see you guys later.”

“Really? Dammit!” Stiles whined, and turned to glare at Scott. “This is all your fault, isn’t it?”

“What?” Scott yelped. “How is this my fault?”

Scott and Stiles started bickering again and Derek took the opportunity to sneak past the dairy section for a gallon of milk.

***

It only got stranger from there.

***

_17 unread text messages_

_From Scott: Hey Dell goes out going_   
_From Scott: Lol sorry_   
_From Scott: How’s our going Derek? :)_   
_From Scott: How’s it going_   
_From Scott: Haha my phone Sioux_   
_From Scott: Sucks_

_From Stiles: for the love of all that is holy, please ignore scott’s messages_

_From Scott: You should hang ours with Stiles more_   
_From Scott: I bet you two would get along gay_   
_From Scott: Lol! !_   
_From Scott: Great. I meant great_

_From Stiles: I was experimenting with putting wolfsbane in his beer_   
_From Stiles: looks like it worked_

_From Scott: Lol sorry for scientific_   
_From Scott: Skyrocket_   
_From Scott: Automobile_   
_From Scott: Wrong words_

***

The following Tuesday, Derek got a text from Scott.

_From Scott: Pack trip to hot springs this weekend? Y/y? :)_

Derek blinked down at the text. Hot springs? In December? Derek could not picture something he would enjoy less.

_To Scott: I don’t own swim trunks._

_From Scott: That’s ok! You can shop with Stiles! He needs a new pair :)_

Nope, wait. Shopping for swim trunks with Stiles. That was something he could enjoy less than going to a hot spring in December.

_To Scott: That’s fine, I’ll just skip this time._

_From Scott: Sorry, this one’s mandatory ;)_

Derek groaned out loud. Cora looked over from her spot on the couch, sliding an index finger down to save the current page in her book. “What is it now?”

“Scott,” Derek replied, then scowled as his phone buzzed with yet another text message notification.

_From Stiles: I have been informed that you need new swim trunks_

_To Stiles: Something like that._

_From Stiles: scott has resorted to emotional blackmail. apparently he will cry unless we go shopping. together. by saturday_

Cora snorted. “Did he break up with Stiles again?”

“No,” Derek said, not looking up from his phone screen.

“Too bad,” Cora said, and turned back to her book.

_From Stiles: want me to swing by the loft tomorrow after school?_

_To Stiles: Fine._

_From Stiles: okay, see you tomorrow, grumpy pants_

_To Stiles: Don’t call me that._

_From Stiles: always have to get in the last word, is that it?_

_To Stiles: No._

_From Stiles: what. you’re totally proving my point._

_To Stiles: I have no idea what you’re talking about._

_From Stiles: OMG did you do that on purpose?_   
_From Stiles: you DID_   
_From Stiles: I knew you had a secret sense of humor hidden deep down_

_To Stiles: Shut up, Stiles._

_From Stiles: you say the sweetest things ;)_


	8. Unpurchased Swim Trunks

The following day, Derek was engrossed in his book, just before the part where Frodo was stung by Shelob, when his phone buzzed in his pocket with a new text.

_From Stiles: I’m outside_

Derek slid his bookmark into place and shrugged into his leather jacket before going down to the street.

“So, uh,” Stiles said, as Derek climbed into the passenger side of his jeep, “hot springs, how about that?”

“Just drive.” Derek fastened his seat belt and then looked over at Stiles with eyebrows raised.

“Right, drive, yes, do that, I will do that, I am doing it…” Stiles rambled as he pulled away from the curb.

Derek shut his eyes, focusing on the rumble of the engine and the wavering cadence of Stiles’ voice.

“So I figured,” Stiles said, “we could start out at Goodwill or something, I mean, I don’t know if you’re super picky about your swim trunks or something, do you care where we buy them? Do you require some sort of special Ralph Lauren brand of swimwear or are you okay with wearing the same thing as the regular plebeians?”

Derek cracked open an eye. Stiles was gesturing with his right hand, the other gripping the wheel.

“Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles stopped mid-ramble.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles flushed and he darted an irritated glance in Derek’s direction. “Oh, yeah, real original, Derek, thanks. I’ve never heard that one before.”

Derek let his eyes slip closed again. “Why are you nervous?”

“Nervous? I’m not nervous.”

Derek snorted.

“Right, well, yeah, maybe I’m just not looking forward to someone who could make a living as an underwear model seeing my naked torso, ‘cause, you know, it’s not really comparable with werewolf torso, my torso is not all ripped and perfectly sculpted.”

Derek opened his eyes and sat up straight in his seat. “What are you talking about?”

Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes darting back and forth. “Ha, nothing, I mean, yeah, no, it’s fine. I’m just vomiting my insecurities everywhere, don’t mind me. I don’t know when to shut up because my mouth has a habit of running at the most inconvenient times and oh God just kill me now, can I just crawl into a pit and die of mortification? That would be just great, thanks.”

Derek reached out to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder. “Stop thinking.” Stiles’ heart started racing at the touch, and Derek jerked his hand away. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t—” Stiles shook his head. “Don’t apologize.”

“Can I roll down the window?” Derek could hear Stiles’ heart thumping steadily in his chest, smell the building arousal. He tried breathing in through his mouth, but it wasn’t really helping.

“It’s like forty degrees outside, dude. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am not a super furnace like your wolf butt, I cannot heat myself on threats and self-loathing alone.”

Derek’s mouth was getting dry. He tried swallowing, but his tongue felt thick. “You could wear my jacket.”

And, shit, that was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Stiles’ arousal spiked suddenly. “You’d let me wear your jacket? Your leather jacket? The one you use to impersonate part of an unnaturally attractive biker gang?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Derek said, trying desperately not to think about Stiles wearing his clothing, Stiles wrapped up in his scent, Stiles marked as his. “How long until we get to the store?”

Stiles glanced over, his scent growing increasingly nervous. “Uh, dude, I was just going to the Goodwill, remember? It’s like, five minutes away.”

Derek grit his teeth. “Fine.” He could survive for five minutes, even trapped in a car with Stiles’ scent. He just needed to think about something else. “How’s school going?”

“Huh?” Stiles frowned. “It’s fine.”

“Your dad. How’s your dad?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. From Stiles’ responding look of bewilderment, he didn’t think he was succeeding.

“My dad’s fine, thanks. Uh, he was looking at cold cases a couple weeks ago.” He paused to change lanes. “I mentioned you could help him with that. Like, if they were werewolf related, or something.”

“You did?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you know supernatural stuff first hand, right?”

Derek swallowed.

“Uh, so.” Stiles scratched the back of his neck. “This is going to be super awkward the entire time, isn’t it?”

“No,” Derek blurted.

“So that’s a yes.”

Derek glanced over at the same time that Stiles was sneaking a glance at him, and for some reason, the ridiculousness of the situation was enough to overcome his anxiety. His face twisted into a smile, and Stiles snorted.

“Oh, my God,” Stiles said, “we’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself.” Derek glanced over, and Stiles was smiling.

“Speaking for myself is my specialty, dude, don’t tempt me.”

There was a moment of reasonably comfortable silence before Derek said, “So, how long have you and Scott…”

Stiles shot Derek a sidelong glance. “Known each other? Since second grade. Been friends? Also second grade.”

Derek just glared when Stiles paused, smile hovering on his lips.

“Oh, you meant how long have we been dating? About a month.” He smirked. “Unless you wanted to know how long we’ve spent making out?”

Derek coughed on his own spit at that last one. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“Over-sharing is my other specialty.”

Derek grimaced. “How long until we get to the Goodwill, again?”

“Oh, ha ha. That’s like one step away from ‘Are we there yet?’ Not cool, dude.” He elbowed Derek in the ribs before moving back to the steering wheel. “And, yes, actually, it’s just up ahead, in that strip mall with the lame-ass smoothie shop that only makes things that taste like grass mixed with Pepto-Bismol.” He tilted his head. “I thought you knew that.”

“I don’t shop at Goodwill.”

“Well, I’m so sorry, mister high-and-mighty. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have subjected you to the horrors of second hand clothing stores. I didn’t realize I was offending you with my bourgeoisie tastes.”

Derek sighed. “You’re not… offending me.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. Your face always looks like that.”

Derek mock-growled.

“Don’t let it get stuck that way, you’ll frighten off all the small children in the vicinity,” Stiles said as he pulled into the parking lot.

***

“Swim trunks are usually in the back,” Stiles said as he rushed through the front doors, “but they’re out of season right now, so they probably won’t have much variety.” Derek had to lengthen his stride to keep up with his manic pace. There was something odd in Stiles’ walk, and Derek glanced down to examine Stiles’ legs, but he couldn’t see anything obviously wrong.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked after a moment. “You’re walking strangely.” He tipped his head to indicate the strange hitch in Stiles’ gait.

Stiles stopped suddenly and Derek swiveled to look back at him. His neck and ears were flushed red. It occurred to Derek that the most likely explanation for Stiles’ stiff-legged gait had to do with Scott.

“Never mind,” he said. “I don’t want to know.”

“What?” Stiles frowned. “Wait, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing. Keep up.”

They walked all the way to the back of the store, stopping in the men’s clothing section. There was one shelf of swim trunks between the pajama sets and the hoodies, next to the fitting rooms.

“Hey, look, they come in black,” Stiles said, gesturing at a plain pair of trunks in the middle of the shelf.

“Contrary to what you may believe,” Derek said, “my favorite color isn’t actually black.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve been informed that my soul is black, though.” Derek let a smirk curl onto his lip.

Stiles blanched. “What? Oh, my God, can we not talk about that? I was drunk, okay?”

“You were drunk when you bought the party decorations? That explains a lot, actually.”

“Fuck you, that was a _great_ party,” Stiles said, picking up a pair of plaid trunks and inspecting the size tag.

“Except for the part where you broke up with your boyfriend in front of everyone.”

Stiles grinned over at Derek. “Except that part, yeah,” he agreed, grabbing a pair in black. 

Derek grabbed the black swim trunks Stiles had initially pointed out. “You’re buying more than one pair?”

Stiles looked down at the pair in Derek’s hands quizzically. “Uh, no?”

Derek nodded down at Stiles’ hands. “Then why are you holding two?”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, man, do you not check the fit first? Let me tell you, I made that mistake once, but never again. It was _not_ pretty.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow.

“Turns out the pair I bought was too big. I’ll give you one guess as to what happened.”

Derek’s eyes widened and he took a step back. He did not need to be thinking about Stiles naked right now.

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed a third pair, this time in orange. “Yeah, it’s probably even worse than you’re imagining.”

Derek was now imagining Stiles dripping wet and naked; it would be difficult to get any worse. “I doubt it,” he managed, voice strained. 

“So, um,” Stiles said, apparently oblivious to Derek’s imminent nervous breakdown, “if not black, then what is your favorite color?”

“Green,” he replied, after a beat of hesitation. Laura had said he should wear more green, since it matched his eyes. Pears, apples, honeydew, kiwifruit: all came in green and tasted of sweetness and summer. Derek had always felt at home in the forest, surrounded by green; green meant calm and home and safe. 

Stiles smiled at him, soft at the edges, and pulled a dark green pair from the shelf, setting it on top of Derek’s black pair. “Try those,” he said, biting his lip, then turned and fled for the fitting rooms.

Derek stared down at the green swim trunks for a beat before grabbing a navy pair and setting off after Stiles.


	9. Well, That Escalated Quickly

Stiles was mumbling to himself when Derek stepped into the empty changing room next to him.

“No, seriously, stop that, we need to focus right now and you are _not helping_.” Stiles paused. “And werewolves have super hearing. Hi, Derek. Oh my God, shut up, _shut up shut up shut up._ Mph.” It sounded like Stiles had stuffed something in his mouth, and Derek really didn’t need that mental image. 

Now Stiles was whimpering as he shimmied out of his clothes. Derek could hear the soft metallic chink of Stiles’ zip being undone, the shifting of cloth and the soft scrapes of fabric against fabric, then denim falling onto carpet. 

Derek could picture it: Stiles taking off his pants, now standing in the tiny dressing room with bared legs, just starting to prickle with goose bumps. He still smelled like arousal and nerves, and underneath that, the cut-grass scent Derek remembered from the party.

Not that Derek was any better off. He forced himself to think of something else — for some reason, the first image that popped in his head was Peter, wearing a party hat and holding out a bouquet of flowers, saying, “Congratulations on the hard-on, nephew. I hear it’s been a while.”

Derek groaned and thumped his head back against the wall in frustration.

“Oh my God!” Stiles said, then quieter, “Uh, sorry. Just. What the hell was that?”

Derek rolled his eyes and fished his phone out of his pocket.

_To Stiles: My head._

_From Stiles: your head spontaneously makes thumping noises?_

_To Stiles: I hit my head._

_From Stiles: oh, sorry_

_To Stiles: Why are you apologizing?_

_From Stiles: it’s called sympathy, dude. you should try it sometime_

_To Stiles: I did it on purpose._

_From Stiles: oh. well in that case, wtf?_

Derek growled. He didn’t have time for this. He stripped off his shoes, pants and shirt with angry efficiency, and was just sliding on the first pair of trunks when his phone buzzed again. He finished adjusting himself before reaching down to check the phone.

_From Stiles: btw are you wearing underwear?_   
_From Stiles: omg I just mean that you need to for trying on swim stuff_   
_From Stiles: because you weren’t planning on it originally_   
_From Stiles: like I normally wear boxers but I couldn’t today because they don’t fit underneath a swim suit_

_To Stiles: I’m not having this conversation._

Derek tugged down on the bottom hem of the trunks, deemed them an acceptable fit, and proceeded to take them off and try the next pair. His phone buzzed again.

_From Stiles: fine I’ll shut up_   
_From Stiles: wait_   
_From Stiles: you never answered my question_

_To Stiles: I wear boxer briefs. It’s fine._

There was the sound of a thunk followed by muttered cursing, as Stiles dropped his phone.

Derek was checking the fit of the dark green pair when Stiles sent the next message.

_From Stiles: did you want to see?_   
_From Stiles: um, I just mean the swim suit. not anything else. don’t get any ideas_

This was a terrible idea. Derek should say no. Or better yet, ignore the text and pretend he hadn’t seen it.

_To Stiles: Fine._

Stiles stepped out of his changing stall and padded over, heart jackrabbiting in his chest, and Derek unlocked his own door and swung it open.

Stiles looked nervous. His hands were twitching at his sides, as though he were fighting back the urge to cover himself from Derek’s view. When he saw Derek, Stiles’ eyes snapped wide and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“You, uh,” Stiles said, his voice rough, “look good.”

It occurred to Derek that he had never seen this much of Stiles’ body before. His chest was better defined than he’d expected, probably due to a combination of lacrosse practice and running away from supernatural creatures. Broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, a sparse patch of hair running down from Stiles’ belly button downwards. He was wearing the plain black swim trunks, and they looked just a hair too tight on him, cutting into the soft curve of his belly and the sharp jut of his hipbones.

Derek forced himself to look back up, at Stiles’ face. “Those look too tight.”

Stiles flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I, uh, I tend to err on the side of caution, these days.”

Derek managed a nod.

Stiles’ tongue flickered out to wet his lips. “So, uh, you don’t like these ones, I guess?”

“What?” Derek’s eyes darted back up. “Uh, no, they’re good.”

The side of Stiles’ mouth quirked up in a smile. “They are?”

“You,” Derek corrected. “You look good in them.”

“Yeah?” The smile grew wider, and Stiles’ eyelids dipped lower. “You think I look good?”

Derek nodded, before slamming the door shut in Stiles’ face, turning around, and leaning back against the wood.

“What the hell, dude,” Stiles said, from outside. “Did you just—” he sputtered. “Rude!”

“I still need to try on the last pair,” Derek said, through the door.

“Uh, you could have _said_.” Stiles was probably frowning, and Derek could picture the furrow between his eyebrows, the slight downturn to his mouth. “Instead of just slamming the door in my face like a crazy person.”

Derek bit his lower lip. This was beyond fucked up. Stiles was seventeen, the son of the sheriff, seeing someone, and not even aware of his effect on Derek. Derek breathed in through his nose to try to calm his heart rate, but with Stiles standing just outside the door, it ended up making things worse. He smelled _so damn good_.

Derek groaned without meaning to, and he heard the sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door. He tried to will his body to calm the fuck down, but it wasn’t listening. “Go back to your changing stall.”

On the other side of the door, Stiles let out an affronted huff. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can,” Derek said, gritting his teeth as he felt the last of his patience slipping away. “And I’m telling you to go away.”

“What the fuck is your problem, dude?”

“You!” Derek snapped, and immediately winced. He forced his voice to steady and spoke through the door. “Just go home, Stiles.”

Stiles pounded his fist against Derek’s door. “No, this is not happening. You are opening the door, and I mean, like, _now_.”

“No,” Derek growled. He could make it through this. He just needed to wait until he was alone. Then he could run to the loft, and take care of his problem. Without any teenagers present.

“Don’t pull that bullshit. I’m not leaving without you, asshole, I drove you here, and you didn’t even know where the _store was_. How the hell are you going to get back?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Like hell you will! God, I don’t want to keep yelling at a door, let me in already.”

“No.”

“Oh my God, why not? Are you naked in there or something?”

Derek swallowed.

“Wait, what? Are you?”

“ _No_.” He ground his teeth together. “Just go away, Stiles.”

“I hate you. Seriously. So much hate right now.”

“ _Leave_.”

“Fine, asshole!” Stiles kicked the door, and Derek felt it rattle his bones. “See if I ever take you shopping again.”

Derek just needed to last long enough for Stiles to go away, and then it would be safe enough for him to reach down and…

No, he was in public. He needed to think about something, anything else.

Somehow, though, all he could focus on were the sounds of Stiles, the next stall over, tearing off his swim shorts. He slid down the wall to a sitting position and slammed his head back against the door again, trying to focus on the pain, instead.

The sound Stiles was making stopped abruptly. Less than a minute later, Derek’s phone buzzed.

He knew he should ignore it. He should leave it alone until Stiles was out of the store, no longer in hearing range, smelling range.

Derek picked up his phone anyway.

_From Stiles: hit your head again?_

“Yes,” Derek growled, loud enough for Stiles to hear. His phone buzzed in his hand.

_From Stiles: thinking about me?_

Derek felt a whimper escape, and smashed his head against the door again.

_From Stiles: me in swim trunks?_

_To Stiles: Stop._

_From Stiles: me naked?_

“Stop,” Derek called out, but his voice sounded thready to his own ears.

Stiles’ arousal faded, replaced by the acrid tang of guilt, and he started moving around again in his stall. A few minutes later, the door unlocked and swung open, and Stiles walked away, the sound of his heartbeat fading into the distance.

Derek ended up buying the green trunks.

***

He texted Scott the next day.

_To Scott: I don’t think I should go on the trip._

_From Scott: :( Please come? We’re renting a cabin and everything_   
_From Scott: Stiles was really looking forward to hanging out with you_

_To Scott: Are you sure about that?_

_From Scott: Totally! Here I’ll ask him_

_To Scott: Please don’t._

***

_From Stiles: I’m sorry_  
 _From Stiles: I know you probably don’t want to see me right now_  
 _From Stiles: but I don’t want to ruin this weekend for you_  
 _From Stiles: so just give the word and I’ll fake sick or something_

_To Stiles: I don’t care._

_From Stiles: really?_   
_From Stiles: like, I just_   
_From Stiles: I’m not saying I don’t believe you_   
_From Stiles: but I don’t believe you_

_To Stiles: Would you stop texting me if I asked you to?_

_From Stiles: omg_   
_From Stiles: I am really really really sorry_   
_From Stiles: I’m serious_   
_From Stiles: I should have stopped earlier_   
_From Stiles: I just_   
_From Stiles: I wasn’t thinking_   
_From Stiles: you know me_   
_From Stiles: I don’t think before I speak_   
_From Stiles: or text, whatever_   
_From Stiles: just_   
_From Stiles: Derek_   
_From Stiles: please say something_

_To Stiles: I’ll see you on Saturday._


	10. Saturday

Derek woke up Saturday morning to a large weight landing on his chest. He glared up at Cora, who simply smirked down at him.

“Hot springs!” she cried. “I got up early for this, bitch, you’re buying me breakfast.”

Derek shoved her onto the floor and rose to a sitting position. “Are you packed yet?”

Cora kicked her feet up to prod at Derek’s ribs, sprawled out against the floor with her arms crossed under her head. “I packed half an hour ago, while your lazy ass was still in bed.”

Derek stretched and swung his legs over the side of the bed, gingerly stretching his toes out to the bare floor. “Go wait in the car. I can’t deal with you before breakfast.”

“Not my fault you only bought three things last time you did a grocery run.”

Derek turned to glare at her.

Cora ignored him, rolling to her feet and flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “We’re carpooling with the wonder twins still, right?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You’re calling Ethan and Aiden the wonder twins now?”

She pulled a face. “Ugh, no, not the actual twins. I’m talking about your shiny new true-born alpha and his lover-boy.”

“We’re driving with Stiles?”

Cora laughed at whatever horrified expression Derek was pulling. “Oh my God, you need to get laid.” She rolled her eyes. “Scott texted me last night. Turns out Allison has to do some family brunch thing, so she and Isaac are leaving in the afternoon.”

“What about Peter?” Derek grumbled, prodding at the cool cement with his big toe.

“You really want to ride with him?”

“No, I meant, he could take Scott and Stiles.”

Cora snorted. “He and Stiles would murder each other in the first five minutes.”

“And this is a bad thing because…?” Derek prompted.

“I’m going to the car,” Cora announced, turning to the door in abrupt dismissal. “We’re stopping somewhere that has pancakes.”

Derek groaned and collapsed back on the bed.

***

Cora insisted on inviting Scott and Stiles to breakfast. “You’re paying,” she said. “We may as well extend your generosity.” Derek had given her a dirty look, but made the turn off to Stiles’ house anyway.

Cora gave him a wide-eyed look when he stopped the car in front of the house and turned off the engine. “What? I’m not moving until we’re at the IHOP. You go get them.”

Derek groaned and slammed the door shut.

Stiles and Scott were still up in Stiles’ bedroom. Derek could hear their voices filtering out through the perpetual crack in Stiles’ window.

“Does he know?” Scott said.

“Know what?” Stiles asked.

Derek could practically hear the eye roll. “That you’re in an open relationship.”

“Oh. I doubt it.”

“Well,” Scott said, “maybe that’s why he hasn’t made a move yet.”

“Yeah, or maybe he’s just disgusted by me.”

“What?”

“Just because somebody is attracted to a person, doesn’t mean… you know.”

“Stiles,” Scott said, exasperation leaking into his voice, “are you having another one of your freak-outs?”

“No!” Stiles said. “I just.” There was a pause, and Derek heard him swallow. His heart started beating faster. “I think I like him. Really like him.”

“You like him? Like, _Lydia_ like?” Scott asked, sounding solemn.

“I don’t know, maybe. At least Lydia wasn’t repulsed by me.”

Derek decided he’d be better off pretending he’d never heard this conversation in the first place. He made his steps deliberately loud and stomped over to the front door to lean on the doorbell.

Stiles’ squeak was audible from upstairs, but Scott’s heart beat remained steady as his footsteps started thudding down the stairs. Derek narrowed his eyes. Apparently Scott wasn’t quite as oblivious to Derek’s presence as he pretended to be. Which meant that he had intentionally started the conversation when Derek came in hearing range.

Before he could puzzle over Scott’s motivations further, the door swung open. Scott was beaming. “Hey Derek!”

Derek just blinked back at him.

Stiles stood behind Scott a ways. “Uh, hi,” he said. “So. Derek. What are you doing at my house?”

Scott turned. “He’s giving us a ride to the hot springs, since Allison can’t leave until later.”

Stiles blanched, his heart beat stuttering. “What?”

“We’re getting breakfast at IHOP first,” Derek grunted. “Cora wanted to invite you both.”

Scott said, “Oh, awesome!” at the same time that Stiles held up his hands in a gesture of dismissal and said, “No, that’s not—”

“You have your stuff?” Derek jerked his head towards the car, parked in front of the mailbox. “Cora’s waiting.”

Scott grinned. “We can always swing back by after breakfast, right Derek?” Stiles, meanwhile, was shuffling nervously from one foot to the other.

“Sure,” Derek said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Stiles.

“Let’s go,” Scott said, and pushed his way past Derek towards the car. Derek’s eyes snapped up to meet Stiles’ without his permission. Stiles flushed red and looked down at the floor.

Derek turned and walked back to the car. Either Stiles would follow, or he wouldn’t.

***

Breakfast was quiet. Stiles wasn’t filling the silence with his usual meaningless chatter, so Scott and Cora picked up the slack, bickering about which action movies to bring to the cabin. Derek managed to tune most of it out, only noticing the occasional “John McClane would kick Rocky’s ass!” followed by Scott’s flailing hand gestures explaining why Cora was so very, very wrong.

Derek snagged the bill from the table as soon as the waitress dropped it off, and Stiles squeaked in protest. Derek just raised an eyebrow, and Stiles sank lower in his seat.

The ride back to Stiles’ house was quiet, and this time, Derek waited in the car while Cora went inside to help Stiles and Scott with their luggage.

***

“Red Sox or Yankees?” Scott asked.

Derek resisted the urge to thump his head against the steering wheel. This had been going on for over an hour now, and they still weren’t even halfway to the cabin, according to the GPS route. Scott and Cora kept throwing out stupid “would you rather” questions, Stiles sulked in the back seat while pretending not to sulk, and Derek stared mindlessly at the road ahead.

“Yankees,” Cora replied. Scott pulled a face in the rearview mirror.

“You’re both wrong,” Stiles corrected, the first time he’d spoken since the “batman or superman?” question half an hour ago. “When it comes to baseball, the answer is always Mets.”

Cora twisted in her seat so she could look back at Stiles. “He speaks!” she exclaimed, faking a gasp. Derek growled in warning, and Cora eyed him sidelong. “What?” she asked.

“Don’t,” Derek said.

He couldn’t help sneaking a glance at Stiles in the rearview, though. He looked exhausted, forehead pressed to the window as he stared out at the passing landscape. 

As Derek watched, Scott shot a worried look over at Stiles. He slipped his fingers in between Stiles’, and when Stiles squeezed in response, something twisted in Derek’s gut.

Derek moved his eyes back to the road. 

“Chocolate or peanut butter?” Cora asked.


	11. Not a Cabin

Derek trailed into the cabin after the others, carrying the luggage and looking around with suspicion.

When Scott said he had reserved a "cabin," Derek had pictured something rustic, nestled in the forest somewhere with a wood burning stove and antique furniture and maybe a breakfast nook with a makeshift cooktop.

This house — or whatever it was — was not a cabin, as far as Derek was concerned. This was more like a hotel suite. Derek eyed the refrigerator and microwave in the kitchenette as Cora claimed top bunk in the first floor bedroom. There were kitschy knickknacks scattered across the mantelpiece and various shelves, and a stuffed moose head mounted above the _electric_ fireplace. Derek rolled his eyes. Then again, he might be willing to use an electric fireplace, whereas he would never willingly use a wood burning stove.

Stiles stuck close to Scott during the entire impromptu tour, his heart rate elevated. His hands were in constant motion and his fingers were everywhere: running through his hair; rubbing the back of his neck; tugging at the hem of his hoodie; trailing across the surfaces of tables and picture frames; tapping against his thigh in a syncopated rhythm only Stiles could hear; plucking at the pink swell of his lower lip.

When Derek finally tore his gaze away from Stiles’ mouth, Cora was smirking at him.

"So, Derek," Scott said, his tone overly casual, "how does this compare to the places you stayed during your road trip?"

"You said this was a cabin," Derek said, and Cora rolled her eyes.

"What my idiot of a big brother _means_ to say, is that this place is a lot nicer than the crappy motels we slept in."

Derek looked over at the moose head, dubious.

Cora ignored him, but she turned to Scott and narrowed her eyes. "How did you afford this, anyway? This is really nice. And didn’t you say you rented it for the entire weekend?"

Scott shifted from one foot to the other. "Uh. About that. It wasn’t—" He winced. "That is to say—"

Stiles lifted his eyebrows at Scott’s flailing. "My dad paid for it," he explained, before turning and clapping Scott on the shoulder. "Calm down, snuggle muffin."

Scott glared at his boyfriend. "What do you mean, calm— I’m perfectly calm, _honey pie_."

Derek winced internally at the sugar-coated barbs. Then Stiles’ words registered. "Your father paid for this?" he asked, feeling his brow crease. "Your single father, who gets by on a cop’s salary?"

Stiles’ lips thinned and his nostrils flared. "He’s the _sheriff_ , thanks, and I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"Stiles—" Scott tried, a hand reaching out, but Stiles flinched away from the contact.

"How much?" Derek asked.

"What?" Stiles blinked back at him, the tension in his shoulders seeping away as a look of puzzlement clouded his features.

"How much did he pay for this? Four hundred? Five?"

Stiles’ face contorted several times before finally settling into wary confusion. "Three hundred and change. Why?"

"So I know how much to write the check for," Derek said, straining to keep the exasperation from his tone.

Stiles bristled. "Hey, we don’t need your _pity_ ," he spat.

Derek stepped towards him. "Stiles," he tried.

"No, that’s not — you don’t even have a _job_ , you lived in a goddamn train station, you don’t have _furniture_ , I’m not taking your money. Just fuck off."

"Stiles." Derek and Stiles both swiveled around, startled by the sound of Cora’s voice. She was leaning against the front post of the bunk bed, arms crossed over her chest. "Derek has money, he just doesn’t want to spend it on himself." She threw Derek a sidelong glance as she stepped closer to Stiles. "Maybe he wants to spend it on his pack."

Stiles swallowed, and Derek couldn’t help the way his eyes flicked down to track the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. "I don’t want to talk about it now," Stiles finally said, carefully avoiding eye contact with either one of them.

Scott nudged him with his elbow, and Stiles stiffened and strode off to the master bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Derek turned to Scott, who was looking at the closed door with a kicked puppy expression. Derek sighed. "You going to go after him?"

Scott blinked, startled. "Uh. Right. Yeah."

***

About an hour later, Derek was sitting propped up on the pillows of the bottom bunk, legs crossed at the ankle, reading Return of the King, when a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Derek said, absently running one hand over the covers to feel for his bookmark.

Stiles stuck his head through the door frame. "Hey."

Derek tucked his bookmark into place and closed the front cover with a snap before pushing himself up to a seated position. "Did you want something?"

"Um." Stiles sidled around the door and pushed it shut behind him. "Sorry I freaked earlier."

Derek slid the book onto the inset ledge in the wall next to him. "It’s fine."

"I mean, it’s just," Stiles said, left leg bouncing up and down and fingers absently tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, "my dad and I aren’t struggling or anything, we don’t need charity, and… you have your own family to worry about. So."

Derek uncrossed his ankles and swung his legs over the side of the bed, turning to face Stiles. "Pack is family."

"Pack is—" Stiles scrunched up his nose. "Okay, right, fine, you have your own pack, then."

"Just who do you think is in my pack?" Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Cora," Stiles replied, almost immediately. "Peter, I guess. Scott, since he’s your alpha."

"And?"

"And who? Like, are we including people in Scott’s pack?"

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Scott’s pack _is_ my pack."

"So… Isaac?" Stiles asked, waiting for Derek’s slight nod. "The twins?" He pulled a face when Derek jerked his head in a reluctant affirmation. "Really?"

"Yes. They’re in Scott’s pack, and I’m part of Scott’s pack."

"Huh." Stiles pursed his mouth. 

Derek forced himself to look away. "You didn’t name everyone."

"What?"

"In my pack. You missed a few."

"A few? What, like Allison?" Derek nodded, so Stiles continued. "Allison’s dad?" 

Derek grimaced, which made Stiles laugh. 

"Okay, good. Not Chris Argent. That would be super awkward." Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing at the back of his neck when Derek didn’t say anything. "Um. Lydia and Danny?"

"Yes."

"So, is that everyone?"

Derek shot Stiles an incredulous look. 

Stiles flushed, and his eyes widened. His heart started thumping a little faster. "Oh."

"Took you long enough," Derek said, finally conceding to an eye roll.

"So, you want to… spend money on… your pack?"

Derek felt his lips quirking up into a smile, despite his better judgement. "Yes."

"Then why did you live in an abandoned train car for, like, three months?" Stiles’ tone was teasing.

" _Stiles_ ," he warned, a hint of a growl in his voice. The effect was probably ruined when Derek’s smile ran away from him, turning into a full-fledged grin.

The edges of Stiles’ eyes were creased with laugh lines, and his smile was lopsided and brilliant. Derek wanted to make him smile like that more often.

"So, uh, you want to come out of hiding?" Stiles asked, his face softened by the ambient light filtering through the windows.

"What’s my incentive?"

Stiles blinked. "Uh. We’re making s’mores?" he said, more a question than anything.

"What kind of chocolate?"

"Milk?" Stiles frowned, his lower lip jutting out.

Derek wet his lips. "Brand," he qualified.

"What bra—oh. It’s Hershey’s, I think."

"Good enough," Derek said, standing up and hoisting his jeans back up his hips from where they had settled during his reading session.

The tang of hormones hit Derek’s nose, and he looked back over at Stiles. His pupils were dilated, gaze focused on Derek’s hips. As Derek watched, Stiles’ eyes flicked back upward to meet Derek’s, and he froze. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Right. S’mores. Tasty. Yes. I’ll be going into the other room, now."

"You do that," Derek said, and this time, he didn’t bother keeping the amusement out of his voice.

***

When Derek entered the kitchenette, Scott, Stiles, and Isaac were all clustered around the stovetop, holding out metal skewers containing as many marshmallows as would physically fit, or in Stiles’ case, more than; there were almost a dozen on his stick. His marshmallows looked squashed, and the last one kept threatening to fall off the skewer and onto the burner.

"You’re not even building a fire for that?" Derek asked, and Stiles jumped.

"Hey, the hermit has emerged!" He waved his skewer at Derek, the last marshmallow wobbling precariously.

"We figured Peter would prefer it if we didn’t light any fires," Scott said, nodding towards the dining room, where Peter was lurking in a shadowy corner.

Derek side-eyed his uncle. "When did you get here?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" Peter said.

Cora appeared in the doorway and shot Peter a glare. "Twenty minutes ago. Stop trying to freak everyone out."

"But it’s what I’m good at," Peter said, his lips curving into a pout.

"Yeah," Stiles said, "okay, that’s it, you have passed the creepy line and are now bordering on psychopath."

Peter batted his eyelashes at Stiles. "Why, Stiles," he said, "I didn’t know you were keeping track."

Cora snorted.

"Where’s Allison?" Derek tried, as Stiles shuffled as far away from Peter as he could get while still keeping his marshmallows in range of the burner.

Scott jerked his head towards the room with the moose head. "She’s setting up the sofa bed."

Derek was about to ask whether the twins had arrived yet, when Stiles’ marshmallow fell onto the burner and burst into flames.

***

Scott, for some reason, seemed to think the proper reaction to a flaming marshmallow was to knock it off the burner and stomp on it. Derek watched with a kind of fascinated horror as Stiles shrieked about finding a fire extinguisher, Isaac continued roasting his marshmallows and shooting disgruntled glances at Stiles, Cora laughed until she was bending over with her hands on her knees and tears streaming down her face, Peter sauntered into the fray to make snide comments, and Allison ran in from the living room to see what all the fuss was about.

Scott inspected the bottom of his shoe while Stiles looked down in delighted horror. 

"That’s going to be a bitch to clean," Stiles said.

"Ugh, I know," Scott said, picking at his sole, eyeing the stringy globs of marshmallow threatening to fall onto the floor.

Stiles’ face contorted as though he was trying to hold in his laughter. "Not your shoe, the floor!" 

Peter patted Stiles on the shoulder, and Stiles jumped backwards, stumbling up against the counter, before throwing him a creeped out look. Cora laughed even harder.

Isaac frowned, then shifted further to the left, stretching his arm out so he could still reach the burner. Derek could hear his heart beat ratchet up, but the only outward sign was the tensing of his shoulder muscles.

"There, there," Peter said, crouching down to swipe his finger through the mess. "I’m sure there’s some spray cleaner and spare towels in one of the linen closets."

"So," Allison interrupted, a hint of desperation in her voice, "who wants to check out the hot tub?"

Cora started hiccuping. 

"Oooh!" Stiles squealed, momentarily distracted from the congealing blob of sugar on the kitchen floor. "I am _all over_ that hot tub. Like, literally. I want to stake my claim before someone else does." He winked at Scott, who wrinkled his nose.

Derek frowned. "I thought there were supposed to be hot springs."

Scott piped up. "There are, but the cabin also comes with its own hot tub! Pretty sweet, huh?"

Allison dimpled at Scott. "Yep. And I figured we should stay in the cabin until everyone gets here."

Derek shrugged. "I can wait for them here, if you guys want to go to the hot springs."

"No, no, no, no, no," Stiles said, turning towards Derek with his eyebrows scrunched together and his hands flailing wildly. " _Hot tub._ I’m not sure you understand. Have you ever even used one before?" He paused. "I mean, it makes sense that you would have avoided them, what with your chronic fun allergy."

"I’ve used a hot tub before," Derek growled.

Cora, whose hiccups had died down somewhat, wandered over to Derek’s side during the exchange. She clapped a hand across his shoulders hard enough to make Derek stumble forward. "You’re just trying to get out of changing into your new swim trunks. Don’t deny it."

"I wasn’t going to deny anything." Derek frowned down at the now-smirking Cora, irked that she had tricked him into doing something as stupid as denying his own denial. "I’m happy to join the pack at the hot springs, once everyone else gets here. Until then, I’d rather just relax."

"You can relax in the hot tub," Scott pointed out, beaming over at him. Derek wanted to punch the angelic smile off his face.

"Now, now," Peter interjected, "no need to pick on Derek. He can’t take a book with him into the hot tub, after all."

Cora snorted. "He could try."

Isaac turned off the burner and started silently pulling the marshmallows off the skewer and popping them into his mouth.

Derek turned to leave.

From behind him, Scott made a noise of disgust. "Gross," he said. "I think I got a piece of marshmallow in my hair."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Hot Tub? Hot Tub.**

Derek was stripping down to his underwear when Cora entered the room. "You’re actually changing?" she asked, sounding surprised, as she leaped up to the top bunk and started rummaging through her bag.

"Everyone _told_ me to." He didn’t manage to keep the sour note from his voice.

"Poor baby," Cora mocked, making a pleased sound as she held aloft a bundle of bright blue triangles and dangling strings.

"I still don’t see why you had to bring more than one swimsuit," Derek complained as he turned away from Cora to shuck his boxer briefs. "How many times are we even going to get in the water?"

Cora’s voice was muffled as she pulled her shirt over her head. "More than once."

Derek rolled his eyes as he pulled up his trunks. "Done," he said, just in case Cora had been too distracted by changing to hear him finish pulling on the shorts.

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Hey, can you tie up the top?" He turned around to see her sitting cross legged on the top bunk, one hand securing the fabric in place, and the other holding her hair away from her back.

Derek sighed. "Yes, fine." He leaped up to kneel behind her and started locating the loose strings.

A knock sounded at the door, and Peter stuck his head in. "Looks like you’re out of excuses, Derek."

"What are you talking about?" Derek asked, his hands busy tying Cora’s bikini strings into a secure knot.

He could hear Peter’s smile, even when he couldn’t see it. "The rest of the pack finally arrived. We’ve decided to cram as many werewolves in the hot tub as possible, apparently in some nod to the clowns in a car analogy."

"That’s idiotic." Derek tugged at Cora’s bikini, making sure the knot would hold. He patted her on the back, just below her shoulder blade, and swung his legs over the side of the bed before dropping to the floor. Derek straightened from his crouch and looked down at his uncle’s bright red and blue Hawaiian board shorts. "Really?"

"I know how to make a statement," Peter said mildly.

Derek sighed and changed the subject. "Why don’t we just go to the hot springs?"

"Apparently _someone_ ," Peter raised a meaningful eyebrow, "insisted on trying the hot tub first."

Derek shot Peter a sour look. "Stiles?"

"Feel free to draw your own conclusions," Peter said. "My job is not to question." He flashed a predatory smile, and Derek narrowed his eyes. "Shall we, nephew?"

"Whatever," Derek said, and brushed past Peter to go out on the deck.

***

Derek slid the door open and stepped out into the chill air, goosebumps rising on his skin. Steam wafted out from the large circular jacuzzi nestled into the corner of the deck, under a plastic rain cover and lit from within by orange lights. Scott looked up briefly from where he was sandwiched between Isaac and Allison. He smiled and waved at Derek before turning back to his conversation. Across the tub from Scott, Stiles was sitting with his back to Derek, and his attention fixed on his immediate left, where Lydia was inspecting her nails with a bored expression. Next to her, Aiden was arguing with his brother, who was standing on the deck outside the tub and leaning his elbows on the rim. Danny was laying in a deck chair next to his boyfriend, covered by a green and beige knitted blanket, doing something on his iPad. Peter slipped past Derek and climbed in the tub to settle next to Stiles.

"Nice suit," he commented, his eyebrow quirked suggestively, as he stared in the direction of Stiles’ crotch.

Stiles scowled. "You’re veering close to bad touch territory there, dude. I’d suggest you sit somewhere else."

"Oh?" Peter turned to look in Derek’s direction, mouth twisting into a calculating smirk. "Would you rather sit next to Derek?"

Stiles craned his neck around and his eyes widened as he saw Derek standing there. The smell of chlorine was strong enough to overpower his scent, but Stiles’ heart rate picked up and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. His eyes traveled slowly down and then back up again.

"I should go back inside," Derek mumbled, probably not loud enough for Stiles to hear, but he hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to turn around and run back into the house when a hand gripped his arm and dragged him in the direction of the jacuzzi.

"Oh no you don’t," Cora said, "you are getting into that tub."

Derek trailed after her uselessly, even as Stiles whipped his head back around and hunched his shoulders inward, like a turtle retracting into its shell. The back of his neck was getting progressively redder.

Peter scooted obligingly over to the right, forming a space between him and Stiles, which Cora shoved him into before circling around and plopping herself next to Allison with a splash.

"So," Stiles said, avoiding Derek’s eyes.

Derek tugged at the hem of his bathing suit.

"You bought the green ones?" Stiles asked, his voice quiet.

"Yeah."

Lydia cleared her throat. "Stiles and I were just talking about kung fu movies. Which do you prefer, Derek: Jackie Chan, or Jet Li?"

Ugh. It was like being stuck in the car with Cora and Scott, all over again. "I don’t really watch kung fu movies," Derek muttered.

"Really?" Stiles asked, his eyes wide. "Not even, like, Rush Hour? Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? Shaolin Soccer? _Kung Fu Hustle_?" He grinned at Derek’s blank expression. "Oh, man, we are totally having a pack movie night when we get back."

Lydia sighed noisily. "What movies _do_ you watch, Derek?"

Derek fidgeted in his seat. The bubbles were tickling his back, and the water was too hot, but mostly he was just hyper-aware of his proximity to Stiles. He carefully avoided looking at Stiles’ bare chest, dotted with moisture, the occasional mole, and dampened patches of hair, made darker by the water. "I don’t really watch movies."

Cora snorted from across the tub and Derek shot her a warning glance. She ignored it, of course. "He likes fantasy. Like Lord of the Rings."

Derek rolled his eyes and slouched lower into the water. Just because Lord of the Rings was his favorite book series didn’t mean he was obsessed with the movies, like she had always claimed.

"When Return of the King came out on DVD, he made us all watch the extended version. Not just the last one, I mean; the whole thing. It’s, what, twelve hours long? I think he was the only one who stayed awake for the whole thing."

Derek turned to glare Cora into submission, but he saw that Stiles was staring at him with an expression of delight. "Seriously?" he asked, his voice hushed. "Dude, those movies were kickass."

Derek reached behind his head to rub at the nape of his neck. His other arm curled over his rib cage. "They were okay."

Stiles laughed. "Right, you can’t even admit to being a fanboy. Are you allergic to geeks or something?"

"Something," Derek quipped, before glancing over at Cora, who was watching him with a guarded expression.

Derek let his eyes flutter shut and breathed in through his nose. It wasn’t always a bad thing to remember. Laura on the couch, throwing popcorn at him. Cora and Andrew falling asleep halfway through the second movie and being carted off to bed. Mom and Dad curling together on the love seat and whispering to each other, while Derek leaned as close to the screen as he dared, his elbows resting on his knees—

He realized that Stiles was calling his name when he felt a warm grip close on his upper arm. "…you okay? Derek?"

For a moment, snapping out of his memories, it felt like he and Stiles were the only ones there. All Derek could feel was the wet warmth of the water on his back, and all he could see was Stiles staring at him with eyes wide and open, before the rest of the world started filtering back in.

Derek parted his lips to say something, but Stiles simply took his hand away as his expression shuttered. "Seriously, dude, you scared me for a minute."

"Sorry," Derek managed, then turned to his right. Peter’s eyes were unfocused, his mouth twisted into something bittersweet. Apparently Derek hadn’t been the only one to recall movie night.

Lydia cleared her throat. "I believe you were telling me about the use of body doubles in western action movies compared to eastern productions?"

"Right!" Stiles said, his face brightening. He shot an anxious glance back in Derek’s direction, but Derek couldn’t really handle conversation at the moment, so he angled his body away from Stiles and stared down into the water. "Right," Stiles said, with considerably less enthusiasm. "Yeah, we can talk about that some more. Good. Okay."

Derek shut his eyes and focused on the cadence of Stiles’ voice, letting it wash over him like the swirling water of the hot tub.


	13. Cut Grass and Hot Chocolate

Derek let his muscles relax as the waters of the hot tub swirled around him. His lower half was pleasantly warm, not unlike when he was taking a hot bath, but he was surrounded by the sounds of his friends, happily murmuring amongst themselves. No one was pressuring him to talk or pay attention, and he let his mind wander as the soft burbling of the water and the muted conversations closed over him like a blanket.

The scent of chlorine was prevalent, and tickled his sinuses, but underneath were the scents of pack: Peter’s sharp grapefruit smell, Cora’s warm strawberry, Scott’s mint, Isaac’s prickly pear, Stiles’ cut grass scent. Eventually he’d put a name to Allison’s bitter tang — pomegranate, perhaps, or orange pith — and the twins’ earthy smells. Lydia and Danny usually wore perfume and aftershave, masking their true smell, but now, with the water washing away the artificial scent, they smelled warm and soft and faintly floral.

"You look happy," Peter said, during a lull in the conversation. Derek cracked open one eye. His uncle was looking over at Derek with a speculative look on his face.

"It’s just," Peter continued, ignoring Derek’s disgruntled glare, "I haven’t seen you this comfortable in years."

Derek let his eyes fall closed again and breathed in the smell of chlorine and pack. "It’s nice," he admitted.

"Nice? My, my, nephew. That’s glowing praise, coming from you."

"Knock it off, Peter," Stiles said. "Can’t you let Derek have more than five minutes of peace at a time without opening your big mouth?"

Derek blinked his eyes open and craned his neck to look over at Stiles. He was already turning back to Cora, though.

"I’m not the one with the big mouth here," Peter said, the hint of a smirk in his voice.

Derek flung his arm out to smack Peter in the chest. "Cut it out."

"Fine. I’m going to go fix a snack," Peter said, spraying Derek with water as he shoved himself out of the tub.

Derek turned back to Stiles. It sounded like he and Cora were talking about weird pizza topping combinations. Something about corn, tuna fish, and mayonnaise?

Derek stretched, his toes bumping against the plastic bottom of the tub. Stiles’ lower back was flushed red, and he was slumping against the side. Derek pulled his wandering gaze away from the waterline, where drifting eddies obscured the two dimples flexing just above the tight band of Stiles’ swim trunks, and instead followed the knobs of Stiles’ spine up, up, past his shoulder blades, to the back of his head, hair matted and damp.

"Stiles," he said.

Stiles turned to look at him, muscles flexing in the artificial yellow lights of the deck. "Wha? Derek?"

"Haven’t you been in here for more than twenty minutes?"

Stiles blinked back at him, long lashes sweeping his cheeks. It would only take a slight shift forward for Derek to press a thumb against his cheek, swipe an index finger against his lower lip—

"Yeah," Stiles said, his mouth pursing in a pout, "but so has everyone else."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "And do you notice anything about the other occupants of the hot tub?"

Lydia had left soon after Derek had entered, heading back to her room with Aiden in tow. Not long after that, Allison had gotten out to get a soda; she was now leaning in one of the deck chairs next to Danny, peering over his shoulder. The only pack members left in the jacuzzi were werewolves.

"They all have more body mass than I do?"

"That too." Derek stood, shivering slightly as the cold air hit his skin, water sluicing down his chest. He held out a hand for Stiles to take. "Come on, get up. Humans don’t take too well to heat exhaustion."

Stiles blinked up at Derek, gaze flitting between his face, his chest, and his outstretched hand, until Cora elbowed him in the side. He flinched and grabbed Derek’s hand.

Pulling Stiles to his feet may have been a miscalculation on Derek’s part. He was dripping, water running in rivulets down his skin. Derek’s eyes traced down damp patches of hair, the dark trail leading from Stiles’ navel to the line of his swim trunks, which were a lot lower than they had been the last time he’d seen Stiles wearing them…

He let go of Stiles’ hand and turned to climb out of the hot tub. He just needed a clear head. He could towel off, and cool down, somewhere with fewer people around to mock him.

He heard Stiles scramble after him, and resolutely marched forward towards the first floor bathroom (he was still mystified as to why there needed to be both a first floor bathroom _and_ a second floor bathroom), flicking on light switches as he went.

Stiles hovered in the hallway outside the bathroom door as Derek rooted around for spare towels. Now that he was away from the persistent itch of the chlorine, he could smell nervous anticipation leaking off of Stiles. He tossed a dark blue towel at Stiles’ head without looking, and started to dry himself with a slightly mildew-smelling green one from underneath the sink.

"So," Stiles said, then lapsed into silence.

Derek rubbed the towel over his hair, though it was mostly dry, since he hadn’t dunked his head. He turned to look at Stiles and lifted an eyebrow as he started rubbing down his arms and chest.

Stiles was studiously avoiding eye contact, dragging his towel slowly across his abdomen. 

"Did you want some hot chocolate?" Derek asked.

"What?" Stiles sounded confused, more than anything.

Derek’s gaze kept drifting back to Stiles’ hands, moving in small circles, long fingers clenched around the folds of the towel. There was a droplet of water crawling down his wrist, descent achingly slow.

"Hot. Chocolate," Derek ground out, dragging his eyes back up to meet Stiles’.

"Whoah," Stiles said, licking his lips, and Derek did _not_ want to deal with that right now, "dude, are you offering to make some?" He shifted from one foot to the other. "Or are you demanding that I make it for you?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

"No, you don’t get to _never mind_ me, grumpy butt." Stiles draped the towel across his shoulders, even though there were still water drops clinging to his calves. Derek could _see_ them. "We’re having hot chocolate. You offered."

Derek raised an eyebrow, but this only proceeded to make Stiles’ manic grin widen. 

"That was totally an offer," Stiles said. "No take-backsies."

Derek just threw his towel at Stiles’ head and stalked past him to the kitchen.

When Derek came back into the living room with two mugs of hot cocoa, Stiles was sitting in the center of the sofa, his knee jogging up and down and making the table quiver. Derek wanted to reach out and rest his hand on Stiles’ thigh, make him stop the compulsive jiggling, but instead he held out the orange mug of cocoa.

"Oh," Stiles said, his leg stilling momentarily as he clasped the cocoa between his fingers. He pulled it to his mouth and took a cautious sip, his leg bouncing again.

Derek sat down on the couch and knocked his knee against Stiles’. "Do you know when you’re doing that?"

"Doing what?" Stiles asked, then glanced down to where Derek was staring at his leg. "Oh, shit. Sorry." He tucked his foot underneath the sofa, thigh muscles clenching. "I just… it’s something I do, sometimes. When I have excess energy, maybe. I don’t really know."

"You don’t have to stop," Derek said, before taking a swallow from his own mug.

Stiles’ other leg started jiggling. "Shit," he said, and squeezed his thighs together.

"Stiles," Derek said, and pressed a fingertip, feather light, over the top of Stiles’ thigh, just before the jut of his kneecap.

The smell of arousal spiked, and Derek jerked his hand away.

"Derek, will you just—" Stiles closed his eyes, breathing through his nose in a sharp intake of breath. He leaned over to set his hot chocolate on the floor and angled his body towards Derek, their legs pressing from knee to ankle. "I want to kiss you. Is that… okay?"

Stiles’ heart was beating a double tempo, his pupils were dilated, and he was trembling slightly, his fingers fluttering in his lap.

"I don’t know," Derek said. "Maybe."

Stiles brows drew together and his mouth thinned into a flat line. "Maybe? What is that supposed to mean? Like, you don’t actually want me, you’re just willing to humor me?"

Derek didn’t want to lie, this time. "I want you."

Stiles’ expression smoothed out and his trembling stilled. "Yeah?"

Derek shrugged.

Stiles rolled his eyes but continued. "So, why is it only _maybe_ okay to kiss you?"

"You have a boyfriend," Derek tried.

"We’re not exclusive," Stiles countered.

"You’re only seventeen," Derek said. That was the truth, too, just not all of it.

"It’s not illegal to kiss me."

"I might not be able to stop."

Stiles sucked in a shuddering breath before licking his lips and swallowing. "I’ll make sure you do."

Derek shook his head. "I’ll hurt you."

"No, you won’t."

"You can’t know that," Derek said, biting back a growl.

"I trust you."

"No, you don’t!"

Stiles clicked his jaw shut and his entire body tensed. "You don’t— no. Fuck you. You don’t get to say I don’t trust you, Derek."

"You _shouldn’t_." Derek couldn’t look away. Stiles’ whole body screamed anger, his muscles taught, his eyes hard. He was beautiful. Derek found himself leaning forward, even as Stiles kept up his angry rant.

"I don’t care! You keep trying to tell me I don’t trust you, but you’re _wrong_ , and you’re an _idiot_ , and I can’t believe I—"

Derek could feel Stiles’ mouth moving under his, the words dying out in angry puffs of hot breath, melting into teeth and tongue and slick heat. Talking turned to moans, clutching hands, and Derek collapsed into the sofa cushions. Stiles moved to straddle Derek’s waist, their bodies pressed together, the hot skin of their bellies touching. Hands ran over his chest, through his hair, through Stiles’ hair, down Stiles’ back, everywhere all at once.

The sound of a throat clearing behind the couch made Derek jerk back and shove Stiles off of his lap and onto the floor. 

"How long have you been standing there?" Stiles squawked.

Peter just smirked before turning his gaze back to Derek. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, sounding not at all sorry, "but it seems there’s no place for me to sleep."

Stiles groaned and rolled onto his back. "Cock blocking mother fucker," he said, or some approximation thereof, but Derek was too busy adjusting himself in his overly revealing swim trunks to pay attention.

"It seems the bunk beds will only hold one person. So unless one of the other couples wishes to invite me into their bed…"

"Take Derek’s bunk," Stiles snapped. "He can stay with me and Scott."

Peter smiled. "Can he now?"

Derek growled and shoved himself off the couch. He needed to grab his things from Cora’s room and then find some dark corner to curl up in shame.

"I’ll just wait outside, then," Peter called out, his entire being exuding smug satisfaction.

Derek’s plans were thwarted when Stiles darted into the guest room and spread out his arms in front of the door. "You were just going to run off and hide, weren’t you?"

Derek glared down at his copy of Return of the King as he shoved it into his duffel bag. Maybe if he ignored Stiles, he would go away. Right.

"No, no, no," Stiles said, "you do not get to run away this time. You are staying right here and dealing with this."

"I don’t want to talk."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "So don’t!"

Derek stopped shoving clothing in his duffel, looking up to where Stiles was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. If Stiles didn’t want to have some sort of excruciating talk about feelings, or the status of their relationship, then what did he want? Derek straightened and shot Stiles a wary look.

Stiles sighed. "You’re so dumb. I don’t know why I like you." He took two strides forward, close enough for Derek to feel his breath against his cheek. Seeing that Derek wasn’t moving away, he reached over and wrapped one hand around the back of Derek’s neck, drawing him in slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull back.

Derek didn’t.


	14. One and One and One Is Three

“So, is Scott…” Derek said half an hour later, as they lay sprawled together on top of the covers of the master bed.

“Is Scott what?” Stiles murmured in between sloppy nibbles at the hinge of Derek’s jaw.

Derek grimaced. It was better to ask now than to disappoint Stiles later. “Going to join us?”

Stiles pulled back, a look of horror on his face. “What?”

“I mean, is this supposed to be a three way thing?”

Stiles bit at his lip, brows scrunching together. “Do you want it to be?”

Derek looked down at where his hand was resting on Stiles’ hip, thumb dragging in circles over the soft skin of his belly. “No.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Derek looked back. “What?”

Stiles winced. “Like, I mean, if you want to have sex with Scott, that’s cool, but like, I wouldn’t want to be there, and I sort of don’t want him to be here when the two of us are, uh, you know. Not because he’s not awesome and everything, but because it’s sort of harder to get a boner and I don’t want you to think it’s because of you, because it’s definitely not you, it’s—“

“Stiles,” Derek said, moving his hand to Stiles’ cheek. Stiles looked over at Derek, eyes wide. “Slow down.”

“Uh,” Stiles said. “Right. Starting over.” He screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Did you want to have sex with Scott?”

Derek couldn’t help the amused twist of his lips. “Not particularly, no.”

Stiles opened one eye and looked at Derek suspiciously. “But you want to have sex with me, correct?”

“You’re seventeen,” Derek said, biting back a sigh.

Stiles relaxed in Derek’s arms, waving his hands as though his age was somehow irrelevant. “And you don’t want to… like, have Scott in the room with us or something, because that would be weird.”

Derek tilted his head. “Is Scott okay with the two of us… doing stuff without him?”

“What? Oh! Yeah, totally.” Stiles grinned. “We talked it all out, the only sexing will be between you and me. But you can still be, like, Scott’s boyfriend too, if you want, just without the sex part. I’m pretty sure he’d be down for that. Because you should cuddle more people, and I think Scott would totally be excited about threesome cuddles and movie nights and Call of Duty.”

“Okay?” Derek frowned as the first part of Stiles’ declaration sunk in. “Wait. What about — you’re not sleeping with Scott?”

“Dude, no. We don’t want to have sex. Tried the whole making out thing, didn’t really like it.”

“What?” Derek pushed himself up onto his elbows. He needed to be sitting up for this.

“Yep. Still a virgin! Not, uh, that it makes a difference, I mean, social construct and all, plus, like you said, seventeen, so it’s not like you’re gonna get a piece of this hot ass anytime soon—”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growled.

“Yes?”

Derek swallowed, looking away from Stiles. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice quiet. _Sure about me_ , Derek wanted to add, but couldn’t bear to say the words out loud.

“Duh,” Stiles said. “Uh, you too, right? I mean, we’re not sexing it up until I’m legal, I get that, but, uh, when I am, you’ll want… to do that? With me? Mutual orgasms et cetera?”

Derek stared down at Stiles. He was nervous, biting at his lower lip and tapping his fingers against the bed sheets. “Idiot,” he said, and kissed him.

Apparently, kissing was an excellent way to get Stiles to shut up. Derek was going to have to remember this.

***

Derek woke up just once, a little past midnight. Scott was curled up behind Stiles, an arm slung across both of their waists, fingertips brushing against Derek’s lower back. He was drooling into the back of Stiles’ hair. Stiles was snoring gently, and his legs were tangled up with Derek’s.

Derek thought of late nights in New York, whenever the nightmares got too bad. He used to slip into Laura’s bed, and wake up with her arms around him.

He didn’t wake again until the sun was streaming through the windows and Scott was writing “PROPERTY OF SCOTT” on Stiles’ forehead in magic marker.

(Stiles made him add “AND DEREK” an hour later, when he saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror.)

***

_December 10, 4:23pm_

_Wilbur Springs_

_Now that C and I are back home, I haven’t had much cause to update the blog. Well, about a week ago, our friends decided a trip to a hot springs was in order. When we got back, C requested I make a blog entry about it, since we did, in fact, road trip there._

_Why hot springs in December? Don’t ask me. I didn’t pick the location._

_It’s definitely a different experience traveling with a big group. C insisted on carpooling with two of our friends (who I have previously referred to as M and SS), so the car ride up was noisier than I’m used to. Once we got there, I only got halfway through reading the next chapter in my book before I was dragged out to the deck for hot tubbing._

_I’m glad I went, though. Even surrounded by crazy people, it was sort of a nice weekend. I got to spend more time with everyone. I think I had a better time than C, even. And I slept better than I have in months._

_Come to think of it, though, we never did go to the hot springs._

_3 comments_

_batman-not-robin says:_   
_ha! I knew you had fun. -SS_

_d-stands-for-dangerous says:_   
_Actually, you’re M. It’s short for Moron._

_batman-not-robin says:_   
_shut up, you know you love me. -SS (which is actually short for Super Stud)_


End file.
